To Love the Darkness
by Lovely Daughter of Darkness
Summary: A young opera rat falls in love with the infamous Phantom of the Opera
1. Chance Meeting

_This is based on the movie version of Phantom. I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. The only thing I only take credit for Janice Digna LaLunette and the plotline of this story, obviously. Don't hurt me!_

The morning air was cold as she ran to the opera house. She would be late for rehearsals again and Madame would have her skinned alive. She pulled her cloak tighter and ran faster through the streets of Paris. She had snuck out to snag a few pastries for her and her two best friends. The opera rats were never allowed to leave the grounds without permission, nor were they allowed anything to eat that wasn't healthy. How else could they be expected to dance so flawlessly? They were renowned for their ballet, after all.

As she snuck in through the bars that lead to the underground chapel she heard footsteps and feared she would be discovered. Quickly she hid her small frame behind a stone column and held her breath, lest the ragged sound give her away. She stood wide-eyed and waited. The footsteps stopped. Anxiously, she released a long slow, silent breath and peeked around the corner. She saw a shadowy frame standing but a few feet from her. She began breathing as slowly as possibly to keep from being heard as she examined the form. But all she could see was dark hair and a cape.

Fearing her punishment and knowing she needed to be on her way she slowly crept from her hiding place, keeping her eyes trained on the figure and her ears open to the sounds of others coming near. She had taken but only a few steps before her arm came in contact with a bit of errant mental protruding from the candle holder mounted on the wall she was walking along. It broke the skin and she whimpered in pain, surprising the man. He turned his head first in the direction opposite of her position and she saw a stunningly pristine white mask covering a portion of his face. She gasped and froze which cause his head to then snap into her direction and she saw that the mask only covered the upper right half of his face.

They stood there and stared at one another for a moment. She saw in his eyes the same shock and fear that she felt herself. She found it quite odd indeed to see such an emotion on a grown man. His eyes moved to her arm where a small trickle of blood had formed on her arm from the low-sitting sconce.

When she finally found her voice, she began stammering apologies. "I-I'm s-sorry sir, I didn't mean to…I mean I didn't think anyone came down here…"

Just then the orchestra began their tuning process, signaling the start of rehearsal causing her to turn to the stairway in fear. She turned back to tell the man that she was terribly sorry and she had to go but he was no longer there. She hadn't even heard him move. She looked around in wonder but he was no where in sight.

Just then she noticed something on the floor. Not quite at her feet nor quite near where the man had stood. She picked it up and saw that it was a clean white handkerchief with the letters "O G" embroidered in red on the corner.

Coming back to herself she realized she had to get going or Madame Giri was really going to kill her. And with that she took off running to the dressing rooms to get into her costume. There, Meg grilled her about what had taken her so long. She told her about her attempt at a surprise gift for opening night, but made no mention of the strange masked man she'd encountered.

"Oh, Janice, you are always getting into trouble like this," Meg scolded.

"I know, I know, but please, get Christine and help me get dressed. It's opening night! No sense in getting your mother all worked up over me when she has opening night to worry about."


	2. After the Performance

"Can you believe the luck she has?"

"And her voice! So shocking."

"Who would have thought it?"

The backstage area was abuzz with excitement at that night's performance.

"Meg, can you believe it? Our very own Christine Daae a prima donna," Janice gushed.

"I know, I wish I knew who she's been training with. Perhaps she could get a word in for me. Speaking of which, where do you think she's gone?"

"Probably down to the chapel to honour her father. On a night like this she would want to feel he was with her."

"I'll go find her and bring her back. I saw so many flowers go into that dressing room; I'll be surprised if there's even room to walk in there. She'll want to see them before they begin to wilt."

"Don't forget to give her my snack that I nearly lost my life over." They laughed and Meg went off to find their new starlet friend.

Janice pulled the handkerchief she'd found earlier out from under the various cream and make-up containers on the vanity before her. She pulled it through her fingers a few times. It was so soft. She became mesmerized by the movement of her hands and began to wonder about the man who had dropped it. She wondered why he wore the mask. And why he seemed to familiar to her. She contemplated the embroidery.

Finally the commotion around her roused her from herself and se went to see if Meg had brought Christine back.

There was a huge crowd outside of Christine's new private dressing room. She then started her way toward the chapel. Having not seen Meg anywhere, she figured they hadn't yet returned. When she found them it was near the stage and they both looked odd. Christine looked exhausted yet somehow entranced. Meg looked frightened and worried and was leading Christine by the hand as though she were afraid she may just disappear if she let go.

Worried, she took Christine's other arm.

"What's the matter? What happened?"

Meg looked worriedly at Christine and shook her head sadly.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Janice insisted.

"Oh, nothing is wrong. The Angel of Music was pleased with my performance," Christine replied.

"That doesn't sound like anything to look so glum about?"

"I'm just a little tired. It was a little nerve wracking to be in front of all those people by myself," Christine told her.

"Well you looked beautiful. We knew all along you were destined for greatness, didn't we, Meg? You never did fit in with us opera rats. Far too beautiful, you are," Janice gushed.

Then they were at her dressing room door and Madame Giri took Christine from the other girls and led her in alone.

They looked at each other and shrugged then headed back up to the dormitories.

Janice changed into her street clothes and gossiped with the other girls until it was emptied out enough downstairs to go and get her personal items from the chorus dressing room that she'd forgotten. After retrieving them she went down to the chapel to light candles for her mother who had died while giving birth to her sister, who died shortly thereafter.

She said a small prayer and started her way on the long trip back to her bed where she would get some much-needed rest. In the darkness she heard footsteps and she thought nothing of it, figuring it was an errant stage-hand going home late. They got closer and she was glad she was no longer wearing the sparse dance uniform. As she got nearer to the more used areas of the opera house, it got brighter, but not by much, however just enough to make out the caped figure walking in the dark. She realized it was the same man from earlier. She simply watched him walk past, wondering why he was here. Be it still here or here again, she wondered what attracted him.

Then she got an idea to follow him. She took the shadows as they came, careful to keep quiet and out of sight. When she realized he was going to Christine's room she became ever more curious. He suddenly stopped and took a shadow, hiding in wait for…what? She didn't know but she waited, watching him closely. She hoped he couldn't see her. She looked around and saw the door to Christine's room. She had been so intent on him, so lost in thought she hadn't realized they were now waiting outside her room.

She heard voices from within and saw Madame Giri near the door. She watched curiously. The door opened and a man came out. What was he doing in there alone with Christine? Wait a minute…That's the new patron that was introduced earlier today. Christine had said something about knowing him when they were children. Raul did she call him?

In the corner of her eye she saw the man move to the door once the new patron had gone. Madame Giri simply stood there and watched as the man turned the key in Christine's door, locking her in then left the way he came. Janice hid deeper in the shadows so he wouldn't see her as he walked passed. The she waited for Madame Giri to leave before she ran to the dormitories and lost herself in the chatter of the younger girls. It was all too much to think about right now.


	3. Meg's Discovery

_Short chapter but I like to create one complete thought per chapter so there will be more soon. I deterred from the movie to the play a little in Madame Giri's line because I like it better. Have fun!_

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A little while later Joseph began one of his impersonations of the Phantom of the Opera. This made Janice start to think. Perhaps this man was the Phantom. But how could that be? No one had ever seen him. It was only a tall tale to keep the girls in line. Wasn't it?

Just then Madame Giri entered dragging Meg along behind her then pushed her into the room. She looked sore about something.

"Those who speak of what they know find to late that prudent silence is wise," Madame scolded. "Joseph Bouquet, hold your tongue." She slapped him and he glared at her. "He will burn you with the heat of his eyes." And with that she sent one of her cold glances across the room and left with Joseph close behind. Meg seemed distant.

"Meg?" Janice whispered, laying a hand on her shoulder. "What's the matter?"

"I think something very strange is going on. I just went to Christine's room to check on her. I was worried about the way she was acting earlier. Anyway, when I went, her door was locked and there was no answer when I knocked. I got a key and went in but she was nowhere to be seen. Then I…" she looked around nervously and took Janice by the arm, taking her to a darker corner of the room. "A mirror in Christine's room opened into a passageway that seemed to lead _beneath_ the opera house," she whispered. Janice's eyes widened in shock. "I couldn't go any further. My mother found me and brought me back here. She said to forget what I saw and never go in there again. Oh, Janice, I'm so frightened. Where could she have gone?" Meg broke into tears and Janice wrapped her arms around her comfortingly.

"Don't worry, Meg. Christine can take care of herself. I'm sure she knows what she's doing." But Janice wasn't so certain of her own words. She had a nagging feeling that that man had something to do with all this. Could he really be the Phantom? Could such a myth be true? She couldn't decide whether to investigate deeper or let it go, as Madame Giri had warned Meg to do. Either way, sleep must come first. They were going to be reviving the production of _El Muto _and rehearsals started early in the morning.

Both Meg and Janice had a difficult time getting to sleep. Meg eventually cried herself to exhaustion and Janice lulled herself with musings of the mysterious masked man. She fell asleep clutching the soft cloth of the handkerchief.


	4. Il Muto

_Please forgive my misspelling of Madame Giry's name, I will correct that for the remainder of the story. Thank you for reading ._

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Rumor had it that Carlotta had come back. Janice wondered how the new managers got her to come back. And for that matter, why? With Christine just an amazing success, why would they want to beg her back? She had such a vile attitude and to be quite honest, she was on the decline. The theatre would do good to have a fresh new face on stage.

The other dancers were twittering on about Christine having cheated her way into the spotlight. One accused that she whored herself to the new patron for the lead role. Such lies! When just last night they were all enviously singing her praises. People can be so cold. It frosted Janice to hear such talk so she quickly finished her costume and went for a walk. It would be a while yet before she was needed to go on.

She decided to wonder the wings. She playfully balanced on the catwalks of the rigging, her ballet training insuring her unlikely to actually fall. She then ventured up into the ceiling. There was a small nook with a window right on the other side of the grand ceiling of the opera house that Janice loved to visit in her free hours. She would read or think or simply look out the window that overlooked the interior of the theatre from the ceiling. She could sit there and watch the various people going through rehearsals or cleaning or tuning or lovers who thought no one was watching. It was comforting to be in such silent solitude once in a while. No one ever came up here and despite her friends, she enjoyed being alone. There were so many girls everywhere all the time. With their twittering and gossiping and just plain nonsense that it tended to drive the poor girl mad.

Meg and Christine were closer to each other than her. It hurt a little but she was fine with that. She seemed to be kind of an alone-in-a-crowd type of person anyway. Her Irish heritage set her apart physically with her flaming red hair and bright green eyes. Sometimes, people who saw her on the street turned up their noses at her, mistaking her for a prostitute because her hair was so vibrant. She sighed remembering this and touched her hair sadly.

Her mother had always told her how beautiful she was. Her father was a general bastard towards her. Janice thought he was jealous of the attention her mother gave her over him. Then after her mother died her father gave her to the opera house to make him money. She was convinced that he couldn't stand to look at her because she grew to look exactly like her mother and it hurt him. All the better though, she thought, she got to dance at the best opera house in Paris and she didn't have to deal with her father treating her so terribly.

She was roused from her musings by the sound of the orchestra tuning. She figured she ought to start her way back so that Madame Giry wouldn't worry.

She was about to begin her journey when she saw a shadow move and froze. No one ever came up here. Who could it possibly be? She waited. Finally a figure came into view. It was that man again! What could he possibly be doing up here? Now she was really becoming curious.

She ran from her position near the window to a shadow off in a corner so that he wouldn't see her. He seemed severely intent on something. There was also an air of fury about him. The heavy steps he took and the vicious way he jerked at his cape as he walked. He stopped and looked out the window at the production as it started and watched the first few minutes of it before opening the secret door to the small walk space than ran around the bowl shape of the ceiling and circled the magnificent chandelier and simply stood there staring down. She crept up behind him and tried to see what he was looking at. She saw the stage far away. Just then he began to speak in a booming voice.

"Did I not instruct that box five was to be kept empty!?"

The insane reverberation of his voice startled her. But for some strange reason she began to get chills down her spine. She'd heard this haunting voice before, when she was very small, yet she couldn't quite put her finger on where…

She crept back over to the window, fairly certain she would not be seen. She saw the cast and audience begin to fidget in fear. She found it interesting how much like insects they seemed, all reacting the same way by what seemed to simple an occurrence. It was only a voice, it wasn't as though the chandelier had come toppling down on their heads.

She stifled a giggle and caught herself. What were these thoughts? They seemed so malicious, but she couldn't really help it.

She heard him mutter something about a toad then saunter off with a swirl of his came and heard the performance start back up. Curiosity still fresh in her mind she began her way back down to the stage humming softly along with the performance when she heard something strange. Carlotta's voice sounded appalling, but in a difference way. It sounded almost like the croaking of a toad. Janice gasped in realization. He _must_ be the Phantom! And he did _something_ to Carlotta's voice! Though how she had no idea whatsoever. She nearly flew the rest of the way to her position.

She arrived just in time to see all the girls in places for act three's ballet. Confused, she joined them as quickly as possible. Already panting from her sprint from the rafters, she tried desperately to execute the movements, even though there were stagehands in her way as they finished switching the set on such short notice.

The music began to swell and she lost herself in the movements, flowing fluidly.

Suddenly, during one of her backbends, she saw a swish of cape in the rigging and her entire body skipped a beat and she became lost her place. She finally snuck a glance up just in time to see the Phantom drop Joseph from a catwalk and watch him hang dead, dangling from a noose.

She heard dozens of girls scream as she stared up at the Phantom while he glared down at the swinging body, completely oblivious to her fascination.


	5. Heartbreak

_I think I've decided to use the audio of the Crawford version to the basic visual of the movie version from now on. It feels prettier to me that way. Soory for taking so long on this chapter, but I hope you like it. _

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Without stopping to complete her thought, Janice took off like a flash up the stairs to the catwalks and riggings where she had seen the Phantom standing as he looked down on the body of Joseph. Seemingly at the same time, she watched her feet and watched the Phantom, ready to follow him wherever he may decide to go. She hoped she could get near enough to follow him without getting lost before he got too far.

She watched him as he swirled his cape and turned on his heel. She was so entranced by his grace that it took a moment for her to register that he was actually coming towards her. She froze at the top of the stairs as her realization set in and stared. Her mind froze and all she could think of was him. His features became sharper as he came closer as there was a dim lamp behind her that seemed to make his white mask glow even in the shadows. He had a strong jaw and defined cheekbones. His eyes were intense but in the uncertain light shouldn't tell their colour.

Then she fell prey to another paralyzing realization. He was looking at her. They stared at each other for a moment. She was in shock that he had caught her. He was in shock that anyone had actually noticed and come after him.

Janice began to stammer some kind of explanation or apology; she wasn't sure which but knew she had to say something. Just then they heard Christine's voice below them and their attention snapped from each other to her. She was half dressed, wearing only the under things for her costume…and she was with Raoul. The two rushed up the flights of stairs to the roof arguing about…the Phantom? Janice turned to the Phantom in confusion. He simply brushed passed her, intent on something.

She watched him go for a moment, then felt a tug in her gut, or was it her chest? that told her to follow him.

The path took her through walkways and stairwells that she never knew existed. They curved and turned until she thought she would get hopelessly lost and never find her way back. Suddenly they were on the roof. She hid just beyond the hatch door the Phantom had passed through, peeking out into the starlit night. His shadowy form stood out from the deep purple, star-speckled sky as he made his way to lurk behind a statue.

She stayed there, entranced by the magical swirling of his cape in the gentle breeze. She sensed such a painful longing in him. As she stared, she wondered what he was so transfixed on. It took her some time to realize he was actually watching something and a few moments longer to realize she could hear voices.

It was Christine! Why would he be watching Christine? She listened carefully.

"The Phantom of the opera is here, inside my mind." She heard her describe to Raoul that she had seen his unholy place underground and his hideousness, and then contradict herself by telling of the beauty of his music and soul.

She then heard the Phantom whisper, "Christine," under his breath in echo of Raoul's comfort. His voice was so rich and full of emotion. It enchanted her very soul. She stared at him as she heard Raoul pledge his love to Christine and her to him. After only a few moments of watching his half-face contort with pain, she couldn't stand the wrenching of her heart in response. She ducked back inside, letting the hatch shut. She could still hear the muffled voices of the couple, though she couldn't make out what they were saying. She sat there and pondered on what she should do. She knew now that the Phantom had some kind of fixation on Christine and that she did not reciprocate the emotion. She saw the pain in his eyes. How could that be mistaken?

She started to leave but realized there was no way she could find her way back. She hadn't paid enough attention to where she was actually going when she had followed the shadow of a man up through the opera house. She had to wait for the roof to be vacated and take the route she knew back to the living quarters.

She cracked open the hatch door and peeked out. Christine was pulling Raoul back through the door with the Phantom looking on with tears in his eyes. She crept out and shivered, noticing that there was now a slight dusting of fresh snow everywhere. Hiding behind a statue, she watched on as the Phantom spoke half to himself, half to the absent Christine while looking longingly at the door they'd disappeared though. Tears feel from the naked half of his face as he bent to pick up a single red rose that had been discarded thoughtlessly. He then crushed it into nothingness and cried out, "You will curse the day you did not do all that the Phantom asked of you!" Laughing maniacally he threw the rose to the ground and with a swirl of his cape he disappeared down the hatch door.

Janice cried silently and ran to the door Christine had used. She went only as far as to where it was warm enough to take the chill out of her bones, then collapsed to her knees and cried in sympathy for the Phantom.

Unbeknownst to her, the Phantom was pounding away on his organ viciously; trying to keep the stinging hollowness of heartbreak at bay by focusing on his opera. His soul turning ever blacker as his pain consumed him.


	6. Christmas Gifts

_Since I've based this solely on my knowlege of the musical and the movie version of it, this I had to come up on my own as I couldn't bring myself to let the story skip six whole months. Do tell me if you don't think it fits with Erik's character, I would appreciate the input._

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It was Christmas day. Janice happily wandered through the halls of the opera house for lack of anything better to do. It hadn't been too long since the night of Il Muto. The agony she had seen in the Phantom's eyes that night had haunted her dreams and plagued her thoughts ever since. But, it was Christmas, right? She was supposed to be happy…Right? She'd received new ballet slippers from Madame Giry earlier that morning. However, a day off was not part of the gift. She had just been put through her paces. You mustn't allow yourself to go even during the holidays, as Madame Giry had said. 

She'd also gotten various baubles and trinkets from the other girls. Christine even gave her a slim silver necklace with a small jewel of deep red. Janice certainly didn't question the cost knowing Christine and Monsieur le Comt de Chagny had been seeing each other quite frequently. Meg had been given a similarly shiny gift as well, though being Christine's best friend it was a bit more impressive, but Janice didn't mind. She loved the necklace and only took it off for baths, performances and sleep.

As she wandered around, she carried a small package in her hand. With a few spare coins she had tracked down an art supply merchant one day and purchased some extra bits of clay, a paintbrush and small amounts of various paints. In her spare time she had worked on a sculpture. It was barely the size of the palm of her hand and was now wrapped in a bit of colourful cloth she'd lifted from the scraps in the waste basket in the costume-makers' room. She was very proud of her creation and badly wanted to give it to the man she'd had in mind while making it.

She stirred from her thoughts when she heard footsteps coming her direction from behind her. Her heart caught in her throat, hoping it was the shadowed form she had missed as of late. Quickly, she ducked into the shadows and was soon disappointed to see it had simply been some random worker, obviously here to finish some bit of work in peace while everyone else was away. She sighed deeply and decided to turn and go in the opposite direction, her eyes downcast with disappointment. However when she turned she collided with something tall and solid. She squeaked softly and fell backwards, clutching the small bundle to her chest, preferring to hurt herself than the hard work she'd done. Her eyes closed tightly and she braced for impact…but it never came. She opened her eyes slowly and only then realized she felt an arm around her waist. It was warm and strong and she felt safe. Without thinking, she looked up to see who her rescuer was and her breath caught in her lungs.

"I-I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there, I… um…forgive me," she stammered breathlessly, staring into the bottomless blue eyes that watched her with unreadable emotion. He didn't reply. Merely steadied her and let go. She didn't want his hand to leave her body and her shoulders slumped slightly when it did.

"It's fine," he mumbled under his breath. Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of it voice. He bent and picked up a large bundle.

"I'm sorry, do you need help?" With out answering her, he stalked off and disappeared into Madame Giry's personal room. She back into the shadow again and waited for him to emerge. When he did, he was empty-handed.

Taking special precautions to not be heard or noticed she fallowed him again. This time, paying attention to where she was going so she could find her way back again.

The path lead down the hallway from the stage to the Chapel, but it veered off down a hidden passageway she'd never seen before, then twisted and curved down into the bowels of the opera house.

So this is where he must live, she thought. What a lonely existence. No wonder he was so fixated on Christine. She was quite a beauty with the voice of an angel. Janice assumed that living in the underbelly of the opera house for who knew how long, he had grown particularly attached to anything theatrical.

Suddenly the passageway opened into a huge cave-like room with a small body of water filling half of it that seemed to funnel out down another passageway to her right. There was a long gondola style boat docked where the water met. The dry land was filled and piled high with various discarded artifacts of the opera house. Dozens of bright, golden candelabras peppered the room and a gargantuan organ with tall golden pipes, pure white keys that reminded her of his mask and ornate gold designs throughout which seemed to be the main focus. She stared in awe for a few moments, she then noticed as he went behind a curtain on the far other side of the room where the land sloped up into a small cliff-like drop-off into the water.

Taking this opportunity she ran to the organ and placed her small gift in an empty space between one of the few lit candles and the songbook that was opened to a page that had been scribbled on. She noticed an errant page lying carelessly across the keys. She picked it up and read, "Don Juan Triumphant," softly. Just then she heard him stirring from the back room and bolted back to the passageway just in time to see him emerge tying the thin rope-belt of a black velvet dressing gown.

She watched him as he sat at the organ and replaced the paper he had left out in the front of the songbook. His motions disturbed the small bundle and she saw him freeze in confusion. He picked up the small card that had been tucked into a fold in the rich fabric. In red ink it read, "For the mysterious phantom in black who saved the Opera Populaire from the toad, from an admirer." She saw confusion on his face as she was on his left side. He looked around and she ducked behind a pile of fabrics. Peeking out a few moments later she saw him examining the small fabric-wrapped gift. He then picked at the folds until it came open and fell away from the small sculpture of a toad covered in warts but with the head of Carlotta in her Il Muto wig and make-up.

She watched his face for his reaction. He stayed deathly still for long moments, simply staring at the small object. A small smile began to grow on his lips and his chest shook slightly until she realized he was laughing.

Once it subsided he placed the toad Carlotta to the side of the organ, arranged his space and began playing from his songbook. He must be writing an opera, she thought. That book was already more than half written in and she didn't think that he just wrote simple songs in his spare time. He seemed to complex for something so simple.

There she sat for a good half hour, listening to his discordant music. It soothed her and she felt herself become sleepy. It was only when she feared falling asleep in his personal haven and being discovered that she reluctantly started back up to the ballet dormitories.

That night she dreamt of dancing with the mystery man to his magical music of the night.

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_Please please** please** review?_


	7. Costumes

Sorry it took so long, guys. Hope you like this chapter .

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She walked through the hallway from the costume department, giddy from her last fitting. The gown was positively outrageous and now fit her perfectly. It was so exciting. Meg had convinced her mother to let Janice come to the New Year's Masquerade Ball with them. It was mainly for the owners, opera stars and rich patrons but Meg knew that Christine would be preoccupied with Raoul and as the ballet mistress's daughter, she was obligated to attend. Knowing she would be bored to tears she had begged her mother to allow Janice to come with her and taking pity on her daughter, she allowed it. She also asked the dressmaker to fit one of the old opera costumes to Janice, knowing she could not afford one of her own or have much need of one after the ball.

Janice skipped a few steps, hardly able to contain her excitement. A real ball in a beautiful gown! What more could a girl ask for? _An evening with him_, a small voice in the back of her head replied.

Her face fell and her excited skip-walking came to an abrupt halt. She hadn't thought of him much since Christmas. She had dreamed of him every night, surely, but she usually forgot of it by breakfast and didn't bother to try to recall. The ache in her heart from thinking of him often became too much to bare. The pain she'd seen in his eyes that night still upset her greatly. She still cried in her sleep every now and again.

His apparent fixation with Christine and her flippant discount of his affection almost angered her. How could she simply disregard his idolization of her for that rich little pretty boy? She felt his pain of rejection in her own soul and tears flooded her eyes. She had to stop and close them while the wave of pain subsided. She mentally kicked herself for dwelling on him again, knowing this would happen.

After gathering herself again and shaking off the residual heartache, she tried thinking of the fun she would have as the ball and she felt a bit better. Then she heard it, the telltale footsteps. He was nearby. She tried to keep her path straight and pretend like she hadn't heard him. If he ran into her…Well, she'd deal with that if it happened.

Then her curiosity got the best of her when she realized she was near Madame Giry's sleeping quarters. She ducked for the shadows and cursed herself for stalking him again. She knew her fixation with him was getting too consuming. She should be able to control herself. Either way, it was too late now, he was in view. He had a bundle of something in his hands. As he got closer she saw it was a beautiful material of black with ornate gold embroidery.

He entered Madame Giry's room and Janice's curiosity peaked ever more. She peeked around the corner and was grateful that his back was to the door. She watched him unfold the bundle and lay it out on the chair at Madame Giry's vanity. It was a dress of some sort of dress, but the angle she was at did not allow her to see any detail beyond that. He lay was seemed to be a note on top of it and turned to leave.

She jumped back soundlessly and held her breath, her eyes wide with worry. She hoped with all her might that he hadn't caught her spying. The seconds ticked past like hours until he finally emerged from the room. His eyes immediately sought her out andbore straight into her. She stared back. She didn't know what to do. She was speechless. His eyes were beautiful and captivated her.

She chose not to speak as she saw the focus in his eyes and the slight irritation at being caught. Then suddenly and unexpectedly his eyes softened slightly and a small smirk danced on his lips. Relieved that he wasn't angry with her she smiled softly at him.

Then, with a swirl of his cape, he wordlessly disappeared into the shadows.


	8. Masque Ball

Everything was right on schedule for the grand Masque Ball in celebration of the new year. Janice shivered with excitement as she added on the final touches of her costume. She felt like a noble in her ivory gown accented in silver and gold. The bodice fitted her dancer's body and enhanced her figure. The lowcut collarwas trimmed with a flouncey material and decorated with pearl and silver beads. The skirt was pulled at her hips to form a swoop of fabric that came into a bustle of fine, delicate fabrics at her backside then fell the floor elegantly and was gathered just so that she knew it would flare around her legs when she walked and danced.

She adjusted the pins and decorations of faux pearls and jewels of brightly shining silver. She needed minimal make-up as her mask was to be worn until midnight anyway so there was no need for elaborate colours and adornments since she would be dancing and no doubt sweating beneath that mask that covered her face entirely, save for her eyes for obvious reasons.

She donned the half-black-half white mask, tugged on her delicate, opera-length ivory gloves and gave herself one last look in the mirror to make sure everything was securely in place for the evening.

She gasped slightly in shock. She didn't even recognize herself. The fine gown was not like her at all due to her place in life. Not only was she poor, but as a ballet dancer in the opera house, she rarely got to wear the lovely costumes the rest of the company did. The best she'd known was a fancied-up tutu with a shimmering bodice and jeweled hair combs.

And with the mask covering her face one would have come close and look into her eyes or hear her speak to identify her. She felt gorgeous and powerful in her anonymity. She could pretend to be anyone she wanted tonight. A million aliases came to mind. A debutante out to flirt with all the eligible bachelors or a princess in disguise, seeking adventure beyond the palace walls, but even as the ideas came to her, they were nothing compared to what she truly wished.

She sighed wistfully and went in search of Meg who was found in her mother's private chambers being admonished for squirming while Madame Giry tried to finish fixing her hair. The pure white of Meg's swan costume was dazzling. Janice giggled softly at her friend and pitied her mother.

"Is there anything I can do to help, Madame?" she offered, taking a small step into the room, not wanting to intrude but convey her good intentions. She then froze as she looked at Madame. Her costume…It was the dress she'd seem him laying out for her that evening. How was Madame Giry so well-acquainted with him that he would give her a costume? And such elaborately elegant one, at that. It was an imitation of a style she'd seen on the Easterners a few years ago when she'd gone to the culture faire with a few of the other girls, but it was intricately woven with designs of gold on the dark fabric.

She shook her head slightly to regain her thoughts and hoped they hadn't noticed. Thank goodness the mask covered her expression so completely.

"No, thank you, dear, there's only one pin left, if Meg here will keep still long enough for me to get it in place," she replied. She finally got it in after pricking Meg's scalp twice more to her squeaking and twitching. "There, now just take care not to muss it, or the gown, "Madame Giry warned, handing Meg her mask which was made of white feathers and fixed to a long handle for her to hold it up to her eyes with.

"My goodness, Janice, I can hardly recognize you!" Meg gushed as the walked down the hallway to the foyer of the opera house. "Did you do that all yourself?"

Janice blushed and smiled beneath her mask but all that could be noticed of it was a bit of glint of her teeth through the small slat at her mouth to allow for audible speech.

"Yes, Meg, you should know this by now. I don't like people fussing over me when I can do it myself."

"It's masterful, Janny, it truly is. One wonders why you're not working in the costuming department instead of putting up with my mother." They were far enough out of earshot that she didn't need to fear punishment.

"Simple, Meg. I love to dance. I always have, I always will." Janice said with a shrug.

"Well, if it makes you happy, I suppose, "she replied, playing with the stem of her mask.

They walked past Christine's dressing room and saw her kissing Raoul through the small opening at the door where it hadn't been shut all the way. Meg giggled behind her hand and Janice shuddered with anger. But before she allowed her mind to curse her friend's choice of companion, she tamped down the thoughts and took a deep, cleansing breath. She was going to enjoy this evening, not stew over Christine and become depressed by thoughts of _him_.

So, she smiled and stuck up idle small talk with Meg until they came to where they had to part. Meg was to wait to enter with her mother and the other rulers of the opera house while Janice was to mingle and dance with the other guests until the time came for her and Meg to go off together and twitter and flirt with the others.

During the short walk alone, Janice wished silently that she could spend this evening with him. She wanted so badly to heal his pain and make him forget Christine. Her musings brought her to a startling realization only moments before she entered the room of raucous and decadence, not giving her near enough time to become accustomed to the idea.

She was in love with the Phantom of the opera.


	9. Masquerade

_Please keep in mind that this is based off of the movie version simply because that is the only version I've seen._

* * *

She didn't have time to grow accustomed to the idea as she was just about to walk into the grand foyer where the ball was taking place. All of the guests had arrived and were simply awaiting the orchestra's commencement to officially begin the evening's dance and festivities. So, she decided to mingle a bit to take her mind off of her newfound realization.

She spoke to a few elegantly dressed male patrons, taking the opportunity to flit a bit in her anonymity. It was only a few minutes later that the conductor took his place and called for places. These stuffy wealthy folk had no sense of spontaneity and insisted specific dances to be predetermined and all the participants given specific spots to start in so that there would be no bumping or disruption. This idea of organized enjoyment seemed odd to Janice, however, she took it for what it was and took pleasure in simply being permitted to take part. Either way, she was still dancing and that was all she really needed to be happy.

Everyone took their places and the music began. Soon enough she was completely lost in the motions which flowed from her as effortlessly as water from a fall. She took her paces in the marionette-like dance that started it off, which was little more than posing and prancing in accordance with those surrounding you. She waved her fan in front of her face demurely, nodding a greeting at those she encountered. Then paused moved in unison with a few others near her. Other members of the company, though upper class, who had agreed to put together a little side bit of choreography for the patrons. There was another group of such members at the landing of the staircase and another on the opposing side of the foyer.

After the little vignette she went back to the stuffy prancing. But she had no problem with it because within moments they began a true gala dance where she acquired a partner, lined up and began dancing in unison with the rest of the people on the floor. This eventually broke into a much wilder and more haphazard type with lots of spinning and twirling and she ended up with a new partner.

As the "guests of honor" took their entrance down the grand staircase, the dance cooled into a delicate waltz. In the calm, she noticed the more pretentious patrons on the upper level simply watching the excitement. _What kind of immense wealth and inbreeding would cause a person to not want to participate in an event like this?_ Janice thought to herself. She mentally scoffed and continued to enjoy herself when she spotted Christine and Raoul in the open corridor surrounding the open foyer, seemingly only just joining the ball. She grunted in frustration but since her mask concealed her expression, her partner apologized, thinking he'd hurt her somehow. She assured him that was not the case and made up some excuse about being winded and they both laughed it off.

The loving couple joined the rest of them on the dance floor but seemed too engrossed in each other to follow what everyone else was doing because as they began to dance a simple waltz, the rest had broke into a much more passionate dance that eventually broke into wild twirling.

Janice was spun all around the main floor then lead up the stairs and twirled around on the second floor, behind the orchestra, then back then back again until she took her place at the landing, again with her fans as the company members began their grand finale that was to end the organized dance session and begin the New Year's celebration. She took her steps and gestures like a master and flowed beautifully with her peers as the wealthy looked on. She noticed La Carlotta's gaudy costume complete with too-tight bustier and over-the-top headdress. Piangi's gold-painted goatee, Fermin's gauche ram's horns and Andre's seeming lack of real costume at all.

It was just when the performance was to come to climax that the orchestra suddenly stopped entirely and a few women at the top of the staircase to Janice's left gasped loudly.

Everyone froze and looked around, trying to find the source of the disruption. Then all eyes came to rest on the man at the top of the stairs dressed entirely in red velvet with a skull mask concealing his identity.

He took a few steps down.

He spoke.

"Why so silent, good monsieurs? Did you think that I had left you for good?"

Janice's heart caught in her throat and she clenched her fists and swallowed hard. Her mouth became instantly dry and her breath quickened.

"It's him," she whispered softly to herself.

No one heard her.


	10. Don Juan?

_Note: I'm sorry it tooki so long to update but I lost my flow and then my computer stopped working. I know this chapter's short but it's something, ne? () Anyway, I hope you like it._

* * *

She stared at him as he descended the staircase regally. She had to concentrate so her mouth didn't drop open. She had to be careful not to let on her feelings toward him. Despite the fact that her mask covered a great portion of her reaction, she had to keep her body language in accordance with fear and surprise. She backed up slowly to avoid his path which was right where she had been standing while she was dancing. Then she realized he was still speaking. 

"...finished score, Don Juan Triumphant!" He threw down the leather-bound stack of parchment and drew his rapier. She gasped loudly and, thankfully, so did the people around her. It was the music she'd heard that Christmas night when she snuck down to give him the gift she'd made. He_ had_ been writing an opera for the company! She was almost giddy with a combination of knowing she'd been the first to hear his music and anxiety to hear it in full form with vocals and dance. Then the realization that she would be performing in _his_ opera. She was sure she was going to faint from excitement.

"Fondest greeting to you all, a few instruction just before rehearsal starts. Carlotta must be taught to act, not her normal trick of strutting 'round the stage." He'd approached and stuck the tip if his rapier in Carlotta's too-big headdress and ruffled it harshly. She squeaked indignantly and looked as though she was either going to finally topple over or faint from embarrassment. _Serves her right_, Janice thought. Then Piangi stepped forward in some sad attempt to protect his huffy accomplice. The pantom took this opportunity to turn his sights on him.

"Our 'Don Juan' must loose some weight, it's not healthy in a man of Piangi's age." He poked his rapier in Piangi's stomach to make his point. Pigani took on the same look that Carlotta had had..Janice thought he'd been too lenient on them, considering he was fully capable of murder. All the same, she watched, keeping her spine perfectly straight in accordance with her extensive training to conceal her true reactions.

He turned on Andre and Fermin. "And my managers must learn that their place is in an office, not the arts." He swung his rapier menacingly making them both jump back in fear of being sliced. Janice tried with all her might but a small giggle still escaped and she covered it up as a choking gasp.

Then he turned to Christine who was standing at the foot of the staircase staring up at him in awe. _Damnable Christine, where's your precious prince?_ Janice thought, noticing that Raoul had disappeared.

"As for our star, Miss Christine Daae...No doubt she'll do her best, it's true her voice is good, she knows, though should she wish to excel, she has much still to learn, if pride will let her return to me, her teacher...her teacher." He had advanced on her and was now mere inches from her face. Janice's shoulders slumped slightly. He'd been her teacher all this time? All these years and now that Raoul had showed up he was simply of no use to her any longer? What a wretched female. It was then that Janice lost all respect she'd ever had for Miss Christine.

She then saw him reach out for the small chain that held a ring between Christine's breasts. "Your chains are still mine, you belong to me." He then wrenched it from her neck and disappeared into the floor in a puff of smoke. Then everything happened in a flash. Raoul flew out of nowhere and jumped into the trapdoor mere seconds before it snapped closed. Out of the corner of her eye, Janice saw Madame Giry run from the ballroom and without a second thought, Janice followed her into the bowels of the opera house.

* * *

_I'll write more as soon as I can ()_  



	11. What's This?

_Sorry it took sooo long to post. I've been having awful computer problems(I didn't have a word processor until about 2 months ago) compounded by home issues. I hope to write more regularly now. Thank you all for your support. _

* * *

Gripping the delicate skirts of her gown, Janice rushed through the corridors on feather-light feet. She kept Madame Giry in sight just enough to follow her. Finally she stopped short as she realized she'd come to a circular room filled with rotating mirrors. She saw Madame Giry find Raoul and grab his arm. Janice flew into an alcove as they rushed passed her, Raoul seeming reluctant. She heard a flip of heavy fabric and snapped her head toward the sound. It was the phantom, having turned on his heel and was now walking away from Janice. She gathered up her skirts again and tip-toed after him. 

He led through another corridor and directly into a large, dimly lit room. There was a large shape that loomed off to the far right corner of the room. She looked a bit harder, straining her eyes to make out the shape in the darkness. It was a bed! How odd that is was shaped like a large swan. And there was a billowing canopy surrounding it, only it was half up and half dangling to the floor. Something about that seemed uneven, as though it had been half-heartedly ravaged, then forgotten. She scurried towards it, careful to hide in the shadows. After a quick glance at the room to make sure the phantom couldn't see her, she reached out and ran her fingers across the drooping canopy. It felt as delicate as a spider's web. She leaned over and ran her hand over the rumpled sheets. Soft silk and a plush velvet blanket. She imagined herself on the bed. It looked as soft as a cloud. Then she remembered the phantom was nearby and her earlier realization struck her like a ton of bricks. She would have been fine, had it not brought lewd fantasies involving this decadant bed. The images and desires made her head reel and her balance to falter. She squared her feet and leaned heaily on the side of the bed, her knuckles nearly white with the strain.

She may have passed out, had it not been for the delicate melody wafting from the organ. Her head lifted and before she realized it, she was walking towards the sound. Wrentching herself, almost painfully, from the trance of the music, she hid herself behind a nearby wall and peered out into the open cavern where the phantom was sitting at his instrument. He had stripped himself of the cape and military coat and was now in only the black blouse that had been beneath the outerwear and the deep red, velvet trousers. He'd also removed the larger skull mask in favour of his more common white one. That small nuance hit Janice's heart like a sledgehammer. How aweful must he feel that he needs to wear his mask even in private? She wanted to badly to run to him and carress his face and wash away all the pain that was so raw in the melody he was creating. It took every fibre of her being to hold herself back.

She took this moment to glance around the cavern. It was a much different perspective from her previous visit. A few feet just ahead of her the ground seemed to drop off into the water and she could just barely see the black gondola from over the edge. To her left she saw the closed portcullis disappear into the black water. To her immediate left, she heard the rustle of fabric and turned to shee there was a curtain hanging just around the corner she was leaning on. The music was still flowing strongly from the organ, so she stepped out a bit further and lifted the curtain to the side to peek inside. Her breath caught and her heart stopped, but years of theatre training had left her with the ability to not make a sound. In the dim light that seeped in from the tatters in the curtain, she saw there was a mannequin of the exact likeness of Christine. And it was wearing a wedding gown! Her heart broke as the reality of his love for Christine set in. It also fed her simmering anger at Christine's behaviour. She could barely contain herself, her hands balled into such fists she could feel her fingernails digging into her palms. She flipped back around to the wall she'd been leaning on and took a long, deep breath as she rest her head back agains the wall. She bit her lip hard, trying desperately to hold back the tears. Even the music couldn't calm her becuase she knew it was all for _her_.

After another bracing breath, she peeked back around into the room. The gown was gorgeously ornate and detailed. She desperately longed to be the object of his desires. Lost in her musings, she stared blindly at the dress. When she felt she couldn't take it anymore she went to turn to leave, but a small table in the corner of the alcove caught her eye. She strained her eyes against the darkness and she could make out a brown leather-bound book. Gathering her skirts into an unladylike bundle at her thighs, she crept around the corner and slipped into the cove. Making sure to secure her skirts in one hand as to not brush against the mannequin, she picked up the book.

The leather spine crackled softly as she opened the book and the pages fluttered as she thumbed the egdes, glancing at what they held. She lost control for a fraction of a second and sucked in a sharp gasp before biting her lip even harder than before. Her mind barely registered the faint taste of blood before her thoughts echoes like a scream through her head...

_It's his personal journal!_


	12. A Look Inside

_Submitted for your approval...  
_

* * *

She sat in frozen contemplation, attempting with great difficulty, to comprehend what had just happened. Upon the realization of her discovery she had tucked the leatherbound treasure under her elbow and, without any conscious thought, scurried back the way she had came, through the back entry of the cavern with little more than a fleeting, hypnotized glance backwards in the general direction of the haunting music. She now found herself sitting on the hard little stool that sat before the community vanity she shared with the other dancers of the Opera Populaire. One lonely candle, sadly melted down, burning somberly before her. Beside it, the source of her dumbfounded concentration. 

Having yet to be in the mental state to be aware of, much less remedy the fact, she was still in full ball regalia. She twisted her fingers idly amidst the fabric of her skirts, her mind alternately racing between debating whether or not to read the tome before her, and utter blankness. Then, as if governed by a will of it's own, her hand rose to tentatively touch the smooth hide flickering in the candlelight. And before her mind had a chance to contradict her hand, it flung the cover open with a sharp crackle of the spine and a soft tap. Across the title page was only an overly flourished scrawl of a signature. So much so, that it was illegible. This greatly intrigued her and so she stared intently for long moments, attempting to pick out letters. The first letter of the first name was an "E", that much was apparent. The swirls of the letters that followed bled together.

After a while, her eyes were drawn to the grand strokes of the first letter of the second name. Simple, compared to the compacted knots of her previous task, but equally difficult. Mesmerized by the shapes it made, she traced it with her finger. This action drew her eye to the almost imperceptable, disembodied line that resided in the center of the design. _A "D"_, she thought? Yes!

She know very slowly traced each curve of the creation with the tip of her fingernail. It took her some time, all the same, but it made the progress less disheartening and more steady. The candle had burnt down another half an inch before she finaly deceifered the name.

"Erik Destelier...", she whispered to herself.

Encouraged by her accomplishment, she flipped over the next page and was met with scrawled and scribbled drawings of the very dress her body was currently occupying. They were old and smudged and completely unfinished, but it was obvious that these were the conceptual sketches crucial in the design of the gown. She turned the page again and was met with confirmation of her assesment in the form of a fully finished, mostly coloured drawing of the gown directly beside a basic pattern mapping for the contruction thereof.

She looked down at the completed version on herself. It had been originally made several years ago fro a production that this house never even offered anymore. From long before Janice had ever even come to the opera house. Had he really been here all this time? How could she possibly have never noticed before? What else had he contributed to the house? Curiousity was vicious dehydration and the pages before her were holy water, which she drank from greedily.

She flipped throug the pages as rapidly as possible, without risking damage. Her eyes flew over the drawings and scales of costumes, set designs and bits of music that she recognized from nearly every show she'd seen or participated in within these walls. Every once in a while she came across a short paragraph or quick line of text between the artistic concepts, but her eagerness left her impatient for the concentration it would take to read them. Before she knew it, she'd reached the end of the book.

Her eyes were burning and the candle was only moments from burning out, but before she closed the back leather-bound cover, she saw what seemed to be another name. Within a spit second she had at once been trying to decern what it said, and then she suddenly snapped the book shut and covered it with both hands, squeezing her eyes shut almsot painfully, as if hoping to block out the offencive thing she had just seen.

She hadn't made out the word. She hadn't needed to. The moment that she'd looked upon the flourished writing, the moment that was no longer than the flap of a butterflies wing, was enough to send her heart crashing and her will crumbling.

One. Large. Decadent...

_C_

* * *

_I hope no one minds my name for the phantom. I couldn't really find a last name, so I took the one from my favourite incarnation and made it French-sounding. _


	13. Sleepless

_Hey everyone! Sorry it's taken so long to update. I've had a TON of family stuff going on this year. I hope I don't disappoint._

Through the passing weeks, Janice was entirely absent from herself. Rehearsals no longer gave her the thrill of joy she once felt.  
Her only consolation was the thought that she was performing his piece. His work. Bold and unfettered from hiding in shadows and psuedomyns.  
This was him. His heart and soul and the darkness that was held within. The one problem, which she tried her absolute damndest to strike from her mind: It was for _her_.

Why her?!, she found herself screaming within her own mind on the rare and poisonous occasion that she actually thought of that fact. What in the hell makes her so damned special? She can't even bear the sight of him! She has no respect for his love for her or even his artistic genius. She didn't deserve his devotion, not one bit. He deserved someone who would appreciate him. Love him. Worship his work and inspire his soul. He's so sad, so alone, in such pain. How dare she treat him that way? She deserves that insipid Vicomte. He is dashing and rich. She is beautiful and angelic. And they have not a lick of taste or personality betwixt the two of them.

She took a deep breath and sat up in her bed. Her hands trembled fiercely with restrained anger. She closed her eyes tightly and gripped the mattress so hard her fingers went white with strain and the blood drained from her hands. Once they started stinging she slowly released her grip and took a deep, bracing breath. It was the dead of winter, but the blood racing back to her fingers made her hands burn.

She opened her eyes. It was still dark but she couldn't sleep anymore. The winter was starting to edge off, but it was still in the dead of the night, so the cold had started to creep under her skin now that she was no longer under her wool blankets. She got up and nealt down beside the bed, pulling out the crate that held her meager amount of personal belongings. Most things were provided by the theatre so they had little need for personal items, but Janice was a bit more of a free spirit than the other girls. In the off season, she liked to wonder around the city on her own. She knew it was risky, but she came to learn the streets, where was safe and what to avoid. She'd also made a few friends of the vendors and street urchins, so even if anything were to go awry, she knew where and who to go to for help or protection.

She dressed quickly, not taking off her night clothes and pulling on several thick layers of warm clothing. A pair of long thick socks, then wool leg warmers over them. A pair of boys short pants, a heavy wool skirt, knee-length followed by a big burly sweater she'd gotten from Joseph the first year she was here. Goodness she missed him. He wasn't exactly a father figure, more of the eccentric drunken uncle no one likes to talk about but everyone secretly loves. She took in a deep breath and sighed and continued to dress, putting a vest on over the sweater, then a scarf that she wrapped around her head and neck and finally a huge coat. Before she left the room, she reached under her mattress and pulled out the journal she'd kept with her all these weeks and placed it carefully into the huge, oversized pocket on her coat and buttoned it in securely.

There wasn't a destination in her mind as she wondered through the back corridors and walkways of the opera house finding her way to the service entrance. She had only thought so far as to got for a walk in the city to think things over and hope the brisk winter air would clear her head a bit. But the memory of Buquet got her thinking of her mother whom she'd lost nearly three years ago. She had been her best friend in the whole world. Sure, the girls at the opera house were nice enough and the people in thee city were always there for her but her mother had been special. She'd always seemed to know just what to do or say. She had been the only one to make Janice feel loved and wanted. Her eyes began to sting with tears. The anniversary of her death was coming up, but with the Phantom's Opera coming ever so quickly, she didn't know if she'd have the time to visit her mother's grave again for a while.


	14. To The Cemetery

_Another chapter to come shortly._

It wasn't until the harsh winds hit her face that she realized she'd reached her destination and had to backtrack a little to go the the stables. She'd need a horse to get to the graveyard as it was a mile or two outside of town.

She gently shook the stable boy awake. "I'm taking Cocoa, I should be back within a couple of hours, okay?"

The boy gave her a cold stare, even through his grogginess. She rolled her eyes and fished some coins from her coat pocket and put them in his open hand. Without another word, he dropped them into his pocket and went back to sleep.

How ridiculous, she thought. But, nevertheless, if anyone found out she took the horse, she'd be in huge trouble. Grabbing a blanket and a minimal saddle, she went into the third stall on the left and readied the horse. Cocoa was a sweet-tempered chestnut bay mare with a good strong gallop but she was almost only used for stage work, so she wouldn't be missed.

Once finished, Janice led her out of the stall and closed it quietly behind her, then did the same from the huge service door before mounting her and walking her very slowly over the cobblestones. Each step reverberated loudly in the empty alley, so she kept firm control of her speed until they were far enough into the street that they wouldn't be heard quite so well. She then tapped the horse with her heel to urge her into a brisk trot.

As they lumbered out of the damp city and onto the dark, wooded, dirt path, now soaked with the melted snow, her mind began to wonder. It fell to the Phantom, as it so often did. She could feel the weight of his book on her thigh and it warmed her inside.

His mind was simply astounding. As she'd read through the pages, she found set designs, architecture equations, bits of music, small synopses of stories and ideas for plays and operas, not to mention the occasional diatribe about Christine. His passion was so intense and his longing was so deep she should feel it flowing from every word, every sketch, every layout. Yet, she could also sense his pain, his bitterness and his cynicism. How could people be so cruel to him when he had such an invaluable wealth of knowledge and creativity? Good God, so what if he was deformed? He wasn't a leper. People's intolerance was infuriating. And not just people...her. How could she reject him so harshly? He worshipped her. So what if the Vicomte was rich? What did he really have to offer? He's so vapid and bland, like dry toast.

After a few minutes, she left the main road and cut through the open field. The path curved up and away from the cemetary to avoid the uncertain terrain and wrap around to the front of the grounds. Her mother was near the back among the mausolea. Even though her father was a worthless labourer with a gambling problem and therefore no money for a proper grave, he loved his wife very dearly. When she died, he bribed a gravedigger to put her in amongst the rich folks. Not in any way to disrespect they or her mother, but he didn't want her out amongst the random graves in the mud and dirt. The cemetery was watched after, cleaned, kept and enclosed which was much more befitting of a woman of _her_ personality stature.

She mindlessly guided Cocoa through the weeds and brambles as her mind continued to wander. Ever since the New Year's ball, they'd been rehearsing _Don Juan Triumphant_. The choreography was so different and the story was so scandelous. It was such a flagrent bearing of his true soul. So dark and fiery. The songs were so moving and passionate. They were already familier and almost like a lullaby for her. Thankfully, the thrill of dancing for him kept her energy high enough to ignore the soothing effect the music had on her. And yet, even in her rapture, she was painfully aware of the distaste and downright hatred the rest of the company felt towards the production. Carlotta had even had the gall to say that it wasn't even real music! How dare that despicable wretch insult him in such a way. Thankfully, Madame Giry had defended him.

"Would you speak that way in front of the composer?" she had said.

"The composer is not here! And even if he were, I would..."

"Are you quite certain of that, my dear?" Madame Giry interrupted. Carlotta bit her tongue at that and her eyes flew around the room like a wild animal trapped in a cage. Madame had secretly grinned to herself when it became clear that she had put the idea into her head.

Janice had giggled as well, as she did now at the thought of it. That gaudy woman deserved to be put in her place. They all did. Especially Christine.

Janice mused to herself how her demeanor had changed so drastically in such a short time. She used to be so sweet and kind...and naive. She'd admired Christine and the other favourites of the house. Now she had nothing but bitterness and resentment for their flippant attitudes, insipid interests and intrigues. It amused her how one of the pieces in _Don Juan_ had been an obvious insult to Christine and her newfound shallowness.


	15. Mother

She finally came upon the back gate of the cemetary. She'd been so lost in thought, she hadn't noticed that the sune had begun to rise and the sky was filled with clouds which gave the world a soft grey/blue tinge which was the most apparent amongst the snow-dusted stone carvings before her.

She jumped down from the saddle and led Cocoa to the impossible tall iron fencing. She tied her reins to one of the posts and slipped between the bars, they were slightly wide and she was very thin, and made her way to her mother's resting place.

The only thing that marked her mother's grave was a simple stone cross on the ground. Janice had been so excited when she'd bought it. It was after she'd been at the house for a little over a year, she'd saved up some of her pay, what if it she didn't send to her father to feed his gambling and drinking which had gotten much worse since her mother died. She'd gone to the stonemason and asked what she could buy with what she had.  
She hadn't had much, but the stonemason had been working on an elaborate sarcophagus and had accidentally chipped one of the crosses irreperably, so he gave it to her for and even let her keep a few coins for spending money. She would always be grateful for his generosity.

She wove through the towering spires and lumbering tombs to where her mother rested on the edge of an elaborate monuement. She nealt and swept away some of the snow and mud, then covered the area with some twigs and leaves to minimize her contact with the raw earth before she sat on her knees before the simple stone cross that stood barely more than two feet tall. She reached under her scarf to the back of her neck and unclasped the necklace Chrstine had given her. She didn't know why she still wore it, given her resent revelation of Christine's true nature, but it was still a very beautiful trinket and was most certainly the best thing she owned, so that must have been it. Once removed from her neck, she closed it back up again and draped it around the cross as though she were letting her mother try it on.

"Hello, Mother. I'm so sorry I haven't been in such a long time. It's so busy at the opera house and you know we're not really allowed to leave the grounds. But, I light candles for you and baby Brea every day. I hope that's good enough. Look at the wonderful gift I got from Christine Daae! Isn't it beautiful? I can't really say I have that much respect for her anymore, certainly none of the adoration I once felt, but it's still a lovely necklace.  
There's really no point in just getting rid of it."

She dropped her hands into her lap and went to slip them into her coat pockets to warm up when her knuckle bumped the Phantom's journal and she gasped vert slightly.

"Oh my goodness, I can't believe I nearly forgot. Mother, I met the Phantom of the Opera! He's real, can you believe it?" She pulled the book out of her pocket and presented it to the cold stone before her. There was white sticking out from both ends of the binding. Once bright and pristine, now slightly faded from being paid so much attention.

"You have to listen to this. This man is an absolute master. I can't imagine why so many refuse his brilliance."

She pulled the book open from the bit of fabric at the top of the binding. The handkerchief she's found so long ago now served as a bookmark. When she would read the book in her secret place in the rafters of the opera house, she would run the sof material through her fingers absently. Now she put it back in her pocket to protect it from falling into the mud. The page she'd opened to was filled with scribbled words and music notes. At the top were scrawled the words "The Darkness of the Light, The Light in my Darkness". She began to sing softly.

"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation..."

_I hope no one minds the title. I wanted to keep the world within itself._


	16. Wandering Child

The music began to overtake her and her eyes fell closed as she sang. Her head began to sway slowly and all thought of where she was left her mind. All she could see was him. She thought of his eyes, the brightest blue, she'd ever seen, as yet so cold and distant. Remembered all the times she's seen him in the shadows and her heart skipped a beat. She relived the moment she'd bumped into him and he's caught her in his strong arms. If she focused hard enough, she could still feel his arm around her waist and it sent a wave of warmth through her whole body and made her smile. She lost herself in the song and her memories. In her mind, she was again, following him through the halls and rafters.

But then, as the music reached it's crescendo and she remembered where he had led her the night of Il Muto. Her heart stopped and her body flashed ice cold as though she'd fallen into a frozen river. Suddenly all the imaged of Christine and Raoul together with the Phantom looking on in such deep pain and longing flashed through her mind like a horror show and she became painfully aware of the lyrics she was singing, making her voice crack and falter.

"Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before. Let your soul take you where you long to be. Only then can you belong to me..." The last word barely escaped her lips before she broke out crying. She couldn't finish the song, the pain was crushing her chest like a lead weight. She snapped the book closed and clutched it to herself as she doubled over in raw gut-wrenching, sobs. She was hardly making any sound, she felt like her voice had fallen into her stomache and all she could manage was barely more than a sigh. Her streaming tears stung her face in the cold.

When the worst of it was over, she rubbed on hand across her face, the other still holding the book tightly. She felt as though she would fly into a million pieces if she let go.

After a few deep, bracing breaths, she slowly opened her eyes and looked at her mother's gravestone. She continued to breathe deeply, trying to regain control of herself, though tears kept falling. The words "why her" just kept running through her mind over and over again. She could almost hear Christine's...voice?

Janice shot to her feet. That wasn't in her head, that was real. She could hear Christine's voice. What is she doing here?

When did she get here? Could she have heard _her_? Where was she? Janice began to follow the sound ever so slowly when she heard the Phantom, his voice soft and haunting.

"Wandering child, so lost, so helpless. Yearning for my guidance..."

She'd never heard his voice so sweet and lilting before. It was a last ditch effort to win her back to him,

Janice gasped when she rounded a corner and saw Christine out of the corner of her eye kneeling before the steps of a mausoleum. Her hand flew to her mouth as she ducked down behind a sarcauphigus. She peered out from around the corner. From her vantage, she was back about five rows behind and three to the left of where Christine was sitting, giving her a good amount of distance to keep her from being detected. She examined the tomb towering in front of Christine and noticed it had "Daae" inscribed on a plaque above the door. Just then she noticed the Phantom slowly walking out, his hand outstretched to christine.

She looked back to Christine who seemed transfixed, slowly begining to rise to her feet.

"...What endless longings, echo in these whispers?"

"Too long you've wandered in winter..."

She saw a flicker out of the corner of her eye and saw Raoul ride up on a white horse. Oh dear Lord, how typical, she scoffed to herself. He was talking to himself, seeming to debate whether or not to go after Christine. Some saviour he was, cowering in the presence of the Phantom. As well he should, though. She looked back to Christine and the Phantom.

"Wildly my mind beats against you."

"Yet your soul obeys," they said in unison.

Christine was walking towards him now. She didn't deserve him, but she was what he wanted.


	17. Duel

_Angel of music, you denied me, turning from true beauty. Angel of music, do not shun me. Come to me, strange angel._

_Angel of music, I denied you, turning from true beauty. Angel of music, my protector. Come to me, strange angel._

_Angel or demon? Still he calls her, luring her back from the grave. Angel or dark seducer, who are you strange angel?_

They all spoke at once, her heart welling in jealousy and anger, while tears spilled from her eyes. All the blood had drained from her hands she was clutching the book so tightly. She pressed a cold palm to her lips when a sharp sob threatened to expose her presence. She watched in suffering silence and the scene unfolded before her.

Raoul had dismounted his stead, his hand grasping the sword at his side as he strode slowly yet purposefully toward the steps of the mauseleum where Christine was inching her way upwards towards the Phantom who was staring down at her with such unbridled love and devotion it made Janice's heart ache and she felt the biting cold of the bitter winter seeping into her bones and began to shiver not only from the chill of the air, but with the overwhelming emotion.

"I am your Angel of Music. Come to me Angel of music."

Raoul spoke, reaching Christine at the top of the stairs. "Angel of Music, cease this torment." He grasped her shoulder. "Christine? Chistine, listen to me. Whatever you may believe, this man, this _thing_ is not your father!"

Christine's enchantment broke and she turned to Raoul and suddenly he lunged toward the Phantom, drawing his sword. In the blink of an eye, the Phantom had his own sword drawn and was the first to attack, forcing Raoul back against the low wall of the mauseluem.

"Bravo, monsieur, such spirited words! Let's see, monsieur, how far you dare go?" the Phantom mocked.

Raoul jumped over the side and the Phantom pursued, putting them both out of Janice's sight.

"More tricks, monsieur? More deception, more violence!" Raoul shot back.

She heard the clashing of steel and closed her eyes tightly, sobbing fiercly into her hand. Every clash made her very soul twinge.

"Raoul, no!" Christine cried.

She heard the hard thud of a man being knocked to the ground and her head shot up only to see the Phantom towering over Raoul and Janice's heart leapt. Raoul rolled away and regained his footing, parrying the Phantom's advances and forcing him to lodge his blade into a wraught-iron fence. The Phantom shouldered Raoul away bodily and retrieved his sword, regaining his stance, advancing again and again, keeping Raoul always on the defencive. Then the Phantom disappeared behind a caracophogus.

"You can't win her love by making her your prisoner."

Raoul dropped his defences by a small degree, just enough for the Phantom to catch him off gaurd and draw him back again into the clearing, forcing him to advance, giving him the illusion of gaining ground.

"That's right, monsieur, keep walking this way!"

With one firm strike, the Phantom slashed at Raoul's arm, knocking him to the ground with a yelp.

"I'm here, monsieur. The Angel of Death. C'mon, C'mon, monsieur, don't stop!"

The Phantom calculated his movements while Raoul rolled in pain before screaming in frustration and attacking the Phantom wildly. His anger had overtaken him and he lost all form and stance, simply swinging his blade blindly. This caught the Phantom off gaurd and Raoul grasped his sword with both hands like a barbarian and forced the Phandom's to the ground, twisting it from his grap and kicking it out of reach. With the Phantom on his back, Raoul turned his blade in his hand, holding it like a dagger, he raised his arm for the kill...

"Raoul no!" Christine's voice peirced the air and both men froze to look upon her. "Not like this."

Raoul straightened and sheathed his sword, going to Christine and taking her in his arms, leading her to his horse. He gave her a leg up and mounted behind her.

As the rode away, Janice kept her eyes on the Phantom and heard him whisper harshly, "So be it. Now it shall be war upon you both!"


	18. Encounter

Janice sat there, unsure of what to do. She longed with every fiber of her being to run to the Phantom and console him, but she was well aware of his solitary existance and concidering what had transpired, she had no idea how he may react to her very presence, much less her consolation.

With a deep, bracing breath, she decided to take her chances. Tucking his journal into her coat pocket and buttoning it securely, she stood and strode purposefully to where the Phantom had now brought himself to a sitting position, his knees raised, his arms braced atop them, his head hanging forward.

She tried to step lightly but the crunching of newfallen snow underfoot gave her away. She had almost reached him when his head shot up and spun around to glare at her darkly, his muscles tensed and ready to strike. He had caught her knealing to retrieve his sword. She lifted it by the blade and stood slowly, coming around to his side and extending the hilt to him. He sized her up apprehensively before reaching his gloved hand slowly, gripped the handle and gingerly lifted it from her hands before turning away only long enough to sheath the blade.

Janice took a few steps to face herself directly in front of him before offering her hand.

Again he stared at her for long moments. Her mind races but she kept her stance firm yet unthreatening and her face completely serene, although her eyes were still filled with her heartfelt concern.

Slowly, he gripped her hand and she hauled him up easily. He was lithe and graceful and she was anything but weak-bodied. Both facts that neither of their statures gave away and both seemed slightly shocked by the other.

Looking down at his shoes, Janice nervously cleared her throat. "I have a horse if you..." she trailed off and looked up at him again, his burning blue eyes had softened slightly.

"What do you want?" he asked sternly.

She looked down and didn't speak for long moments but when she opened her mouth, she heard his voice. "You're the opera rat, " he whispered.

"Yes, monsieur. I was here visiting my mother when I heard..." Again she couldn't bring herself to complete her sentence.

"Heard what?"

She swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "Everything." She looked up at him again.

He stared into her eyes with gaurded confusion, trying with great diffuculty to comprehend what her reaction was, or what her part may be.

"Did _he_ send you?" The accusitory note in his voice made Janice's heart ache. She knew exactly what he meant. Had Raoul charged her with Christine, had she been sent as some kind of messenger or watchdog. The very idea made her stomach turn and a visible chill to crawl up her spine.

"No, " she replied simply and firmly, keeping her eyes locked with his.

He stared at her, reading her, trying to decern the lie.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, breaking his silence.

The question caught him completely off-gaurd and his eyes turned from burning and accusitory to complete confustion. His look was so transparent, Janice could practically read his mind; _No one has ever asked me that before...Why should she care?_

Then, a smile curved on his lips and a deep chuckle burbled in his chest, his eyes conveying deep amusement at the thought of having been harmed by that no-account little fop.

"No, not at all, " he finally responded.

Without thinking, she simply couldn't help herself, she threw her arms around his waist tightly and held him close, burying her face in his chest.

"Oh thank God, I was so worried!"

The Phantom stood in stunned silence as she clung to him.


	19. What Have I Done?

She reveled in the feel of his warmth under the coarse fabric of his clothing. The smell of him, an intoxicating mixture of the damp caverns beneath the theatre and the crisp scent of winter. But before the thought had even managed to complete itself inside her head, she realized herself and jumped back. What was she thinking? How could she have allowed herself such an outburst?

"I am so sorry, monsieur. I forgot myself. It won't happen again, " she apologized profusely, wringing her hands. She dropped her head and squeezed her eyes shut, deeply mortified by her actions. Wishing the earth would open and swallow her rather than have to face him again.

Suddenly, she felt his hand gripping her shoulder with a delicate pressure. Her eyes shot open and she was shocked to see him standing so closely. Slowly she raised her eyes to meet his to find them a mix of confused and guarded. She knew he didn't trust her, but nor did he know what to make of her. His eyes turned cold again as she gazed at him, regaining his air of aloof mystique as his hand fell away from her and he broke the gaze to adjust his clothing.

"I have no need of a horse," he replied finally. Without looking up at her again, he turn with a subtle flick of his cape and began to walk away. But he stopped after only a few strides. "Thank you", he said after long seconds of silence. He squared his shoulders and disappeared among the gravestones and statues.

Janice stood stock still for several long minutes staring after the spot he'd been, trying to process what had happened. What must he think of her? She'd behaved so strangely. She barely even knew herself at this moment. Finally she began the long journey back to the theatre, dreading the wrath of Madame Giry. Taking small solace in clutching the journal close to her body and the sweet memory of his body pressed against hers.

_Very _short update. More to come soon.


	20. Rehearsal

She'd mostly recovered when she returned to the opera house. At least she was aware enough to stealthily return her horse to the stable and toss another precious coin for a boy to care for her so she could return to the dormatories. But upon arriving she found it empty. Panicking, she dressed diligently into her rehearsal costume and rushed to the dance room. The banging sound of staff on wood greeted her the minute she turned the corner and her blood ran cold.

"And just where have you been all morning? You are aware we are opening within the week." Madame Giry was seething as she approached.

Janice rushed to her spot at the dance bar and began her warm-up excercises.

"Forgive me, Madame. I wanted to visit my mother but I didn't want to burden you. I had thought I would return before anyone noticed." Her hands were shaking but she focused all her attention on keeping her movements precise and discipplined so as to not give herself away.

"I have half a mind to remove you from the production..." Giry scowled down at her.

Her body froze and her eyes snapped to meet Madame's. A lump rose in her throat, choking her protests even as her mind screamed. Her entire existence had focused to the singular purpose of performing for the Phantom, if she were removed... She couldn't even complete the thought.

"Unfortunately, since many have refused to take part in this Phantom's opera, I cannot spare you. But as punishement, you will forfiet all your free time until opening night to chores and rehearsal. Now back to work, girls!" With that she spun back to the reduced company of dancers and pounded her staff for the painist to begin again.

Janice turned away from the group and continued her excercises so no one would notice the tears spilling from her eyes. Her emotions were still raw and she couldn't control them any longer. All she could do was focus on her dancing. Once she had warmed up, she took her place and put her soul into it.

When they were dismissed to take their meals, Meg ran to Janice. "Have you heard they're going to trap that despicable phantom?" she whispered to her.

Janice dug in nails into her palm to bite back her reaction. Modulating her voice, she replied, "No, they are?" staring at Meg wide-eyed.

Nodding enthusiastically meg continued. "Yes, they're going to use the production to lure him out and have gaurds and police posted everywhere to capture him!"

"Well I hope they don't get in our way. There's limited space backstage without a slew of armed brutes clogging things up."

She stared at Janice agape, "Is that really the only thing that you can say at a time like this? That monster has been tormenting our precious Christine for years and he will finally be brought down! And all you can think of is a few backstage inconveniences?"

"Tormenting? He's done nothing but help her! He trained her voice, he made her the success she is now. He worships her and she throws it back in his face." The words escaped before she could stop them. Keeping her face cool and unaffected was all she could do to prevent from giving away anything more.

Meg studied her for a long moment before finally replying, "You've been acting very strangely of late, Janice."

"Have I?" she answered nonchalantly. "Well, it must be the stress of the production. It's so different from everything we've done and we've had less time to perfect it. I'm sure that's all it is, Meg, dear."

Meg seemed unconvinced but said nothing more.


	21. Don Juan Triumphant

Opening night had arrived and the house was abuzz with fear and anticipation. Janice focused her duties. As part of her punishment, she had been charged to helping the seamstresses with completing the dancers' costumes and there was a lot left to be done. Thankful for something to keep her occupied, she threw herself into it. She completed her tasks with just enough time to dress herself, warm up and run through a few pieces with her dance partner. They'd never really done paired choreography before, so she wanted to be sure she had it down perfectly. For him.

An hour before curtain, the gaurds began filing in and occupying every inconvenient place they could, just as she had suspected. They hadn't the first idea about how a theatre was run, and by their demeanor, nor did they care. Janice doubted they'd ever even attended a performace before. She'd grown almost concieted in her resentment of the disrespect shown to art, creation and performance. Before she met the Phantom, she'd lived in a bubble of ignorance and naivete. Living the past five years in the ballet, she'd had nothing to think about other than dancing and whatever girlish intrigues the others twittered about. But now she saw. Far more than she ever would have wanted, but could no longer imagine being blind to.

After perfecting her hair and make-up and putting the last touches on her Spanish-style costume, she slipped her small body into a corner of the stage-right wing so she could watch as best she could. The orchestra began and the curtain raised and the music began to fill her. He'd even somehow managed to make Carlotta sound good. Her peircing tone matched the chaotic arrangement. Janice blinked back tears as she could feel his heart in every note and chord. When the opening number was over, the whole house fell into a deathly silence. Creeping forward, she peeked into the audience to see looks of horror and disgust on the faces of the patrons. She sneered at them and retreated back into the shadows.

Ignorant. Ungrateful. Tasteless. Her resentment reached a fever pitch and began to brew into a seething rage. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. It wasn't until the orchestra began again that she felt soothed. She let the soft music take her, Piangi's voice an afterthought to her. It had calmed her enough that when she heard Christine's voice, it didn't completely grate her nerves to sawdust.

"No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy. No dreams within her heart but dreams of light."

Truer words could not have been said of the both of them, Janice snickered to herself as she returned to her place in the wings. It would be a while before the first dance suite, though Meg and some of the more buxom dancers had been given featured spots in earlier sets. She stared at Christine, wondering how she could not be impressed.

"Passarino. Go away for the trap it is set and waits for it's prey."

Her blood ran cold. That was not Piangi's voice. Her eyes darted upstage to find the broad form of the Phantom in full costume, complete with black mask and Spanish cape. Her breath caught in her throat. He came for her. He knows the danger, the gaurds posted in every nook and corner, armed to the teeth. Raoul and the managers watching from their prized box seats. And he boldly steps onto the stage, singing such poingant words in his dark, seductive voice. She glanced back to Christine and saw the conflict in her eyes. Janice searched her eyes for any sign of genuine attraction, or even appreciation. There was none. Only the vapid look of her falling the power his voice had over her fighting with her obvious desire to run in fear. How could she?

"Past all thought of if or when, no use resisting. Abandon thought and let the dream descend."

The Phantom had advanced on Christine. His hands were on her. He slipped behind her and put his arms around her. Janice's stomach tied in knots.

"What raging fires shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlocks it's door? What sweet seduction lies before us?"

She couldn't look away. It was the worst torture imaginable and she couldn't tear her eyes away. She couldn't even cry. Not only could she not show her true emotions, but her pain was so deep tears simply did not come. She just watched the scene unfold before her in enthralled silence.

Luckily for her, everyone was staring by now. It was clearly not Piangi on stage any longer and while some suspected the identity of the new performer, most were just scared and confused.

Christine began singing and Janice went numb. The bredth of her emotion had finally reached a breaking point. All she cared about now was the well-being of the Phantom. If he wanted Christine and this last ditch effort managed to convince her, she would do everything in her power to preserve them. If Christine betrayed him for the final time, she would dedicate her life to protecting him. Or risk her life, whichever comes first.


	22. Down

She watched as they ascended the stairs to the constructed balcony on the stage. Christine appeared to have taken on a more determined attitude. Almost seductive even. Perhaps this was working. Perhaps this would make her see just how beautiful he truly was and she would finally be his. It made Janice's heart wrench to think of but she knew that was what he wanted and his happiness was paramount.

Atop the walkway, Christine and the Phantom approached one another. Janice vision was obscured by the structure. She could only just barely see Christine's face over the railing, the Phantom was only the black shape of his cloak. But she could still hear his voice. And it was no longer singing the same melody she'd heard rehearsed a thousand times.

"Say you'll share with me one love one lifetime. Lead me, save me from this solitude. Say you want me with you here, beside you. Anywhere you go let me go, too. Christine, that's all I ask of you."

Almost as though it happened in slow motion, she saw Christine raise her hands to caress the his face. Tears began streaming from Janice's eyes. It must have worked. How could it not? Then she watched in horror as Christine tore the mask and wig from the Phantom. Her strangled gasp of resentment and pity went unnoticed amidst the cacophony of terrified screams.

Suddenly, the Phantom grabbed Christine and they fell through a trapdoor in the walkway and straight through the stage. Simultaneously grateful and agitated by the chaos that ensued, she wove her way through the frantic people, desperate to see what the Phantom's next move was. On her way to the passage below, she stopped into the costume workshop. She selected a mostly completed long black cloak with a hood from the long rack of clothing and retrieved the Phantom's journal which she had hidden under her pile of fabric scraps. Securing the book in an unfinished section of lining, she ducked back into the bustling corridor. But her detour trapped her behind a gaggle of frightened dancers.

"Oh, poor Christine! How dreadful."

"I can't imagine how horrifying it must be to be kidnapped by the Phantom."

"He's such a horror! What could he possibly want with our Christine?"

"Unspeakable things, no doubt."

"You don't know what you're talking about! You have no idea what he's gone through for her. He'd do anything for her! If anyone is a horror, it's Christine."

She could not believe those words came out of her mouth. The girls stared at her with confusion and contempt.

Another girl ran up from behind Janice. "Look! Raoul is going to save Christine!" She pointed to where Madame Giry was leading Raoul and speaking heatedly. They were going in the direction of the underground stairwell. Janice's passage was faster and more direct, but if she didn't get going he might beat her there. She darted past the girls, who were still staring at her as though she'd gone mad. Perhaps they weren't too far off the mark.

"Janice!"

Oh good lord, now what? She turned to see Meg running after her.

"Raoul is going to find Christine." Meg said, catching up to her.

"Yes, I see that." She slowed but didn't stop.

"Some of us want to follow him down with the police." Meg glanced back, gauging Raoul's progress.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Janice replied coolly.

"Why not?" Meg spat back, "We have to save Christine! He felled the chandelier and the opera house is..."

Janice bit her lip so hard it bled. "I think we should leave that to the police. I have to go, Meg. All this chaos is getting to my head." She ran off and darted around the wrong corner to make sure Meg wouldn't follow her.

"Did you know he killed Piangi?" Meg shouted at Janice's retreating back.

She ignored her. A mob? Really? They can't be serious. She flung the cloak around her shoulders and fastened it at her neck as the ran full tilt down the winding corridors to her personal passage to the Phantom's lair.


	23. Point Of No Return

As she reached the end of the tunnel, she could hear voices resonating in the cavern. Pulling the hood around her face and keeping to the shadows, Janice crept out to see what was going on. Peering around a table laden with long-discarded supplies and candle holders, she saw Christine in a full wedding gown. The gown the Phantom had made for her. A lump rose in Janice's throat.

..."This face... the infection. Which poisons our love. This face which earned amother's fear and loathing. A mask, my first unfeeling scrap of clothing. Pity comes too late! Turn around and face your fate. An eternity of _this_ before your eyes..."

"This haunted face holds no horror for me now. It's in your soul that the true distortion lies."

Janice choked back a sob.

"Wait, I think my dear we have a guest."

Her blood froze in her veins.

"Sir, this truly is an unparralled delight."

"Raoul!" Christine called, running to the edge of the water.

Clutching closer to the shadows, she saw Raoul on the other side of the closed portcullis.

"Let me see her!"

"Be my guest, sir..."

Janice watched the Phantom intently. His face was still naked from where Christine revealed him. She took in the full sight of him. The thin patches in his hard hair. The grotesquely curled edge of his mouth. The drooped and sunken eye socket. The angry red sores where his mask was held in place and aggitated the senstive skin. The way his thin loose shirt was open down his chest and clung in damp patches to his body. Seeing him this way... Hurt and angry. Exposed and vulnerable. She fell ever deeper in love with him. She saw him as he was. Not just because he wasn't wearing the mask.

The Phantom had tied Raoul to the portcullis and was strangling him in front of Christine. Trying to strike a deal with her.

"Start a new life with me, buy his freedom with your love. Refuse me, and you send your lover to his death. This is the choice! This is the point of no return!"

His desperation broke her heart.

"The tears I might have shed for your dark fate grow cold and turn to tears of hate, " Christine spat back at him.

Janice buried her face in a handful of cloak fabric to soak up the tears as the flooded her eyes. Silent sobs racking her body painfully. The blood thundering in her ears drowned out most of the ensuing argument. It took all Janice had in her to stay still. To not rush to him and beg him to give up on Christine. To profess her own love and devotion to him.

"You try my patience... Make your choice!" the Phantom shouted at Christine.

Wiping her face, Janice looked up and assessed the scene. Christine began to advance towards the Phantom, who had left Raoul securely tied up to face Christine. She stepped down into the water, the white gown billowing and floating up as she approached the Phantom slowly.

"Pitiful creature of darkness... What kind of life have you known?" Christine was looking up at him as though she were seeing him for the first time. Janice saw her glance down for a moment and do something with her hands that made the Phantom's eyes shimmer with surprise and happiness. "God give me courage to show you, you are not alone."

As if in slow motion, Janice saw Christine lift her hands to the Phantom's face tenderly and kiss him slowly, deeply. His arms went around her slowly, as though he was trying to comprehend what was happening. Then he was holding her.

As soundless as a cat, Janice rose and crept back to the passageway. Once engulfed in darkness, she took off running.

"Enough... Enough now," she said to herself.

In the distance she could hear the clamoring of the mob making it's way down the stairwell. Using the ungraceful sound as a guide, she took a detour from her usual route back to the opera house to join the mob. She didn't know how, but she _had_ to protect them. It was the least she could do for him.


	24. Devotion

As she ran through the tunnels, following the shouts of the angry mob, her resolve strengthened with each step. She had accepted. He will be with his love and he will be happy. Though it tore her heart to shreds and pressed a weight so heavy on her chest she had trouble breathing, her love for him was too great to be anything but overjoyed at his happiness. Christine would come to realize the depths of his soul. To appreciate his love and devotion and to return it in kind as he deserved.

Suddenly she broke from the darkness and into the press and clamor of the mob descending the stairwell to the below. Thankfully no one noticed she's emerged from thin air as she rushed ahead of the throng in search of Meg. The crush of the crowd was so dense, she didn't see that the stairs had ended and her boots were submerging in the murky waters of the channel that lead to the Phantom's cavern. As quickly as possible, she gathered up the length of the cape and wrapped it around her arm, clutching the form of the journal tightly to her breast. Finally she caught sight of Meg as the crowd dispersed in the widened area of the water entrance of the cavern. The candles flickered in the distance, unhindered by the portcullis. Janice's eyes darted around in confused. There was no one in the lair as far as she could see. Where are they?

She spun around in time to see the tail end of the Phantom's gondola disappear around a bend far from where anyone who didn't know where to look could see. She heaved a sigh of relief and continued her quest to reach Meg. She grew nearer the Phantom's lair, impeded by the hip-deep water weighing down her legs. But she took advantage of her slowed pace to take it all in. She'd never entered his sanctuary so plainly before. Always keeping to the corners and shadows to avoid discovery. Now she walked in the light and studied every detail. Even when the water began to recede and she reached the incline to dry land, she clung to his journal and stared in wonder at his trappings. The sketches and models, sheet music strewn everywhere. Paints, brushes, fabrics, ribbons, carving sets, half-finished projects. Collections of figurines, sculptures, metalworking. Dragging herself from her musings, she rushed to Meg who was wondering about as if in a daze.

"Meg! Did you find Christine?" Her voice sounded forced even to herself.

"No, but I found this, over on that velvet chair..." Meg held out her hands and resting in her palms was the snow-white mask of the Phantom.

Gently, reverently, Janice reached out her hand to touch it. She very slowly ran her fingertips along its edge. Across the smooth, cool surface. She heard the Phantom's voice in her head, "_A mask... My first unfeeling scrap of clothing..._" and tears sprang to her eyes.

She looked up and met Meg's gaze. "May I have it...?"

Meg gave her a queer look, but finally nodded once.

With a touch as light as a butterfly's wing, Janice picked up the mask from Meg's hands and held it in her own.

Meeting Meg's eyes again Janice whispered, "Thank you..."

As thought a spell was broken, Meg blinked her eyes, shook her head and continued on her search of the cavern with the rest of the theatre folk. Janice pretended to help, wandering the piles of creative debris. But really she was taking it all in. Examining every scrap. Imagining what their meanings could have been. Thinking of the Phantom's happiness with Christine.

It wasn't long before word spread that Christine and Raoul had escaped to safety. The news reached Janice as she was kneeling before the small musical monkey she had seen the Phantom playing for Christine to help her sleep. She overheard some of the stage-hands discussing gossip that Raoul had defeated the Phantom and rescued the defenseless Christine. Janice studied the ground, trying to find the answer she seemed to have missed.

That can't be right. She saw Christine choose the Phantom. What could possibly have gone wrong? Where is he? What's happened to him? Her mind flew in a million different directions as she clutched the mask and the journal as though they were her only link to the world. Someone walked by carrying a torch and something on the ground caught her eye. A small glimmer. She turned. There was a great velvet tapestry that hung heavily, adorned with a thick golden tassel. Beside it stood a row of mirrors that had been violently smashed, glass littered the ground where they had shattered.

Something wasn't right... Something was missing...

Janice stood and backed away a few steps, studying the fixtures of the area. At the end of the row of mirrors hung the gossamer curtains that concealed the small room in which the wedding gown had been stored. Just beyond the thin fabric she could make out the outline of the doll that possessed a striking resemblance to Christine. She closed her eyes and thought back to the nights she had ventured into this ensconce. Suddenly her eyes flung open and she stared. The tapestry. It never hung loose before. It's covering one of the mirrors. But why...?

She looked around. Most of the group had abandoned the cavern to find a way to the surface. It must have been hours since the climax of tonight's disaster. Surely the fires had been put out, but the structure must be weakened and dangerous. They'll have to find alternate routes. There were less than a handful remaining, and half of them were on their way out. The other half were looting what they thought could fetch a price. Meg had left to go find Christine the minute she heard she was safe. Janice had promised to catch her up soon, that she needed some rest before ascending those imposing stairs again. But she had lied, and Meg knew it, but pretended to believe her anyway.

No one was watching her. Janice gingerly wrapped her fingers around the edge of the plush red velvet and peeked behind it. The hidden mirror had been smashed as well, but a sheet of polished silver did not meet her gaze. Only a yawning mouth of darkness. Taking one last glance around the room, Janice slipped behind the heavy fabric without so much as a gust of wind to assert her presence. Ensuring the passage was once again hidden from view, she began to walk slowly down the corridor. Having long since dropped her cloak to once again hang at her ankles, she gently held the porcelain mask in one hand, while the other glided along the wall to guide her through the darkness.

After what seemed like ages she saw a very fight light up ahead, as though one feeble candle flickered from behind something. As she approached, she heard something. She stopped and listened. Crying... It's him! Quickly and quietly as she possibly could, she went to him. At the sound of her light footsteps, he startled and turned, but made no move of aggression. He had been weakened by his broken heart. The small candle illuminated the unmarked half of his face which was streaked with tears and stained with pain. She approached him and knelt before him, reaching out her hand to caress his marred cheek lovingly.

He stared back at her in wonder. "It's you..." He finally whispered.

"Yes, Erik... I'm here and I will always be here for you." The feel of his name on her tongue made her giddy and serene all at once.

Dropping the mask to the ground, she wrapped her arms around him and held him close as he cried.


End file.
